


Bambi

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Friendship/Love, Gunshot Wounds, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sexual Harassment, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:35:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Tyler has a thick layer of dirt on his hands and neck and Josh has blood smudged under his eyes.---They’re just U. S. Volunteers in Vietnam.





	Bambi

They call him Bambi.

Josh has no idea _why_ , because he’s not sentimental. Josh doesn’t even want to think of this sobriquet since he has more significant things to do. But the new guy in their troop looks a bit like a deer — maybe it’s because of his big brown eyes or because of his fluffy eyelashes or maybe because he’s just as lanky as an awkward teenager.

That’s not something Josh cares about.

But Josh watches him nevertheless.

“Bambi!”

The new guy turns bright-red when they call him Bambi.

“I’m Tyler,” he says, every time.

“No one gives a shit, Bambi,” the commander guffaws.

“I hate that,” Tyler mutters.

And he’s just a lonely deer that’s about to get smashed by the truck.

And Josh has no clue where that _Tyler_ came from, what he is doing at this military base along with the other U. S. Volunteers. In fact, Josh is not a volunteer of his own accord; he’s here only because his Dad told him to, because _‘how could you be so useless at a time like this?_

“My Dad wants me to become a man,” Tyler says, splashing his face with the water from the hose. “I’m from Columbus, Ohio.”

“Yeah,” Josh hums. His head hurts and so does his neck — even the blood in his veins aches.

Josh conceals the fact he’s from Columbus, Ohio as well.

Tyler is his neighbor now.

And they live in shacks, they spend weeks upon weeks training until they’re completely drained, running marathons with their heavy backpacks and these M1 helmets on their heads that make their brains boil. When they are allowed to rest, Josh doubles over with his palms on his knees and plunks off his helmet, feeling a gust of wind in his greasy curls. No matter how short he cuts them, they’re growing _too fast_.

With the sun shining in the sky, his skull is about to set itself on fire.

Josh only tries to straighten up his aching back as he sees a vague silhouette, a long shadow covers the ground. Josh hallucinates of the deer in their wildlife, unhurriedly roaming the grass.

His delusions are interrupted as somebody points at his helmet; Josh’s vision gradually finds focus.

Then, there’s the voice.

“A brain dome,” Bambi says.

“A piss pot,” Josh replies.

This is the second time of them actually talking, so —

“I’m Tyler.”

His hand pats Josh’s shoulder.

All Josh can feel is the taste of sweat in his mouth.

“Josh,” he spits out.

A half of the troop rushes past him with a _swoosh_ and with their combat boots flumping against the ground, beating the clouds of dust out of it. Josh mentally notes that they only have one minute before the commander would yell at them again, call them ladies and force them to do push-ups until their arms would fall off.

“See you later,” Tyler nods enthusiastically, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Josh puffs out.

Josh’s shoulder blades are all bruised black from the M-16 slamming against them repeatedly, violently, as if it’s going to crack his spine. He kind of wonders how Tyler’s bruises would look like, would contrast against his olive skin. Josh isn’t sure if there’s something _wrong_ with him, but his homophobic colleagues shouldn’t sniff out a thing about his fantasies.

Tyler leaves just in time.

“Dun!” the commander bellows. “Did I say ‘sit on your ass’?”

Josh doesn’t even sit. He’s just standing with a sway.

“No, sir,” Josh struggles to breathe.

“Then why the fuck have you stopped? Three more miles,” the commander orders. “Helmet on.”

The metal burns Josh’s temples, fatigue creeping up slowly. If he’d throw up due to overstraining himself again, it wouldn’t be pretty. Josh joins a flock of sweaty and stinky guys again, the swelter settles in his lungs, lungs deflate, making him want to hack them up.

His scalp is about to split under the helmet, knees are as soft as a cottonwool.

_It’s your duty, boy._

He silently observes Tyler jog a few feet in front of him, with that M-16 rifle hitting against his back, _smack, smack, smack_ , a metallic paintbrush drawing hematomas on his scrawny body.

It’s just few more days before the helicopter takes their group to the Vietnam jungle.

 

***

In a helicopter, somebody from the troop dares Tyler to bite through an empty can of beer.

“Watch me,” Tyler smirks, weighting the can in his palm as if it’s one of those M-61 grenades.

Tyler’s slightly crooked teeth clank at the contact with it, a slight crunch, and then he spits out a lump of metal. It lands onto the floor while Tyler wipes his chin and raises his hands up in a gesture of victory.

Josh’s teeth hurt.

“Dammit, Bambi,” Jack laughs. “With these jaws, I’d never let you blow me.”

Tyler shows him his middle finger.

Josh’s abdomen throbs.

 

***

Josh doesn’t quite remember their first skirmish with the Vietnam army.

Jungle warfare is a heinous and unfair thing, and no one could predict a sudden attack from the sky — the bombs fall out of the darkness, and here’s the shooting of the assault rifles, and —

Somebody crawls, grasping at Josh’s pant leg, and here’s only a half of a body, the other half looks like it went through a meat grinder, and Josh wants to close his eyes not to see. A man, writhing in agony and losing his guts all over the blood-soaked dirt, and he’s wearing that U.S. Army Infantry uniform, and the tattered pieces of his face look familiar.

And his innards are spiraled just like the snakes right behind him.

Another explosion, the infantry throws all of their forces just to fight back, protecting their small temporary camp that is completely destroyed, and Josh doesn’t understand who is dying right beside him, and he steps onto somebody’s squishy internal organ.

“Fire!”

Somebody tries to use a cracked signal corp to call for help, to cover their heads and backs as the war-planes keep swirling and chasing the troop. _Just like a deer in wildlife._

They’re just the bugs on this battlefield.

“Dun, come on! Move!” a sharp stone hits Josh’s back, shaking his consternation off. He whips around, spotting a flash of the well-known features.

Josh nods and fires his rifle, seeing a green silhouette fall down the shallow gully. Tyler tosses a grenade, pushing Josh and turning him and making him bend his head forward as they squat beside the rocks. The hailstones of the enemy’s bullets fly above the top of Josh’s helmet, eardrums torn apart. They need to re-load their rifles and then jump back into the battle, to save their injured friends and defeat their common rival.

_A brave deer is able to demolish the beast._

Tyler pops the bullets into the magazine.

The jungles reek of death and ashes.

Another string of bursts, a violent yelling, another attack.

Josh shakes and thinks this rock might turn to his and Tyler’s grave.

 

***

There are no any good days in this timeline, Josh admits.

The war is going on, sucking Josh into a whirlwind of blood, sweat, gunshots and pain. His muscles ache, his mosquito bites itch and swell, and he’s sick of his own group. The days go by, and they’re camping again, dozens and dozens of miles away from the place they got previously attacked. Their daily routine is spending the night burying the bodies of their soldiers and then walking, only stopping for a couple of hours beside the small river to get some water.

“Cody and Andy were good guys,” Marks says thoughtfully.

Josh nods.

They couldn’t find the lower half of Cody’s body. Cody was like a fucking jigsaw puzzle.

Jokes promptly forgotten, and if they’re lucky enough, they will get a day of calmness before heading to the next point.

“I need to take a stroll,” Josh says.

He never thanked Tyler for shoving him aside.

Josh could’ve been dead along with the others, entombed under the bodies of Vietnamese soldiers, but all he got is ringing in his ears and a constant tremor in his left hand as he curls his fingers around this too hot pistol grip.

_Guts, blood, death._

Josh wades through the bamboo stalks; the insects attack him with the new vigor — Josh cusses and wipes the sheen of sweat off his face. He must be more careful here — the foe’s plan is a charade.

He doesn’t want to get captured.

Josh dwells on thoughts, and that’s where he hears the noises right behind these green walls, a fight, the sounds of punches, soft thuds, and —

“Suck, you, bitch!”

Incoherent mumbling is a response.

And Josh runs, pointing the barrel of his rifle for somebody’s chest looming on his right; Josh’s finger just glides over the trigger as he sees the circle of people surrounding Tyler. There are three of them plus Tyler, he’s on his knees in the mud, with his arms twisted behind his back by one of the soldiers while another one works on opening Tyler’s mouth. The worst part of it is that all these guys are from their troop. And Josh knows them — Dirk is pinning Tyler’s forearms to Tyler’s shoulder blades, his back hunches while Morgan fumbles with the belt in his pants.

Tyler doesn’t open his mouth.

Greg’s filth-rimmed fingernails leave crescent marks on Tyler’s cheeks.

Tyler’s mouth is still closed.

Josh almost wishes another attack would happen right now.

“Open your fucking mouth or I’ll knock your teeth out.”

And here’s the deafening smack of the leather swatting the skin, a large red line crosses Tyler’s cheekbone, while Greg makes him throw his head back. Tyler just winces and screws his eyes shut, wet trails on his face wash away the dirt.

“Come on, little fag, we all know you’re secretly dreaming of it,” Morgan hisses, just about to strike another blow.

The bruises are bulging underneath the pads of Greg’s fingers.

Josh can’t stand it anymore.

“Fuck off!”

Josh fires as he screams, unintentionally mostly, but seeing someone being tortured just like that is too much. Josh has just lost a fucking bullet — and Greg screams, stopping squeezing Tyler’s bottom jaw, and clutches at the round hole in his lower leg.

Josh doesn’t care.

Josh could’ve made a better shot.

Morgan hastily staggers backwards.

“Standin’ up for a faggot?” he jeers. “Wanna be the only one who fucks this mouth?”

They have their rifles, too, and Josh is sure they’d use them immediately.

Dirk lazily removes his hands from Tyler’s wrists, jostling him forward; Tyler’s teeth are still clenched as he grits them and peels himself off the ground.

“You’re fucking crazy, Dun,” an injured soldier barks. The wound is just a graze.

Josh is riled up.

“Next bullet goes to your balls.”

They sneer, and Josh just flips them off, aware of their vileness. He is definitely about to get a bullet into his stomach later, maybe even from the Colt Commando of their commander.

“Fuck you, Dun.”

And they go in different directions just because they can still walk.

Josh checks if Tyler needs to lean on his shoulder; Tyler drags his right leg behind him but refuses stubbornly. Josh’s heart hammers, this ‘what the fuck happened’ question is about to slip off the tip of his tongue. 

Tyler doesn’t thank him.

Tyler just doesn’t say anything, staring at his boots all the time, occasionally rubbing his bruised jaw. They walk in silence — if the eerie sounds of the jungle in Southern Vietnam might be considered as silence.

“They’re assholes,” Josh says.

Tyler makes a pained noise with the back of his throat.

“Uh-huh.”

And Josh finally puts two and two together. And his teeth hurt again.

“Did they break your jaw?”

Tyler shrugs.

“Can’t,” he groans and pauses.

“Can’t open your mouth?”

A heavy sigh.

Tyler’s teeth could’ve turned to sand from the pressure he’s been applying on them to keep his lips sealed.

“Wait,” Josh calls out.

This time, Tyler doesn’t refuse.

Josh’s fingertips fit perfectly into the fingerprint marks the other man left on Tyler’s skin. Josh cups Tyler’s jaw, moving it left and right as Tyler’s sad eyes might be filled with tears again. Or maybe, he’s just squinting at the sunlight. Josh squints his eyes, too.

“It’s gonna hurt.”

Josh feels the dislocation, a rigid joint, and he just counts to one as he snaps Tyler’s jaw back onto its place.

Tyler visibly pales.

“Ow,” his hands replace Josh’s as he wipes the saliva off his chin.

“They’re assholes,” Josh repeats.

“Yeah,” Tyler grabs his backpack and heads to their camp. “Thank you,” he mumbles without turning back.

Josh convinces himself he doesn’t call Tyler _Bambi_ in his head.

 

***

Back in the tent, Josh finds a note in his sleeping bag, chaotic scribbles on a crumpled piece of paper _‘the moon just happened to be the very first thing that I missed’._

Josh knows who wrote it.

 

***

A week passes, and Josh guesses he knows why those soldiers were harassing Tyler — he doesn’t just _guess,_ Tyler tells him.

“I never look up anymore,” Tyler says as they sit outside their tent.

They’re on their duty and Josh needs a good talk not to fall asleep.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler stomps his boot slightly. “I’ll never see the eyes of God, so what’s the purpose?”

Josh doesn’t want to talk about religion.

“Tyler,” Josh starts.

“Wow,” Tyler smirks. “Somebody remembers my name.”

“Bambi,” Josh teases.

Tyler’s smile disappears.

“No,” he grumbles. “Not again.”

Josh shrugs.

“Okay.”

If his nerves weren’t all tensed up, he’d have said he might get hard when Tyler licks the unspoken words off his lips. Tyler breaks his own rule and looks at the starry sky, then promptly averting his eyes and propping his chin up with the butt of the rifle. And there’s definitely something _wrong_ with Josh.

And it’s easy, and the night helps to reveal the secrets.

“I’m gay,” Tyler says. “That’s why God hates me.”

And it strikes; a silly star falls down, gleaming to the death.

“What—”

“The others will find out one day. You can go and tell them.”

An invisible bird flaps its wings, an invisible viper rustles in the depths of the grass.

“No, I’m not gonna,” Josh shakes his head.

“Really?”

And again, it’s too easy, too unpredictable and predictable at the same time.

The slumber dulls the emotions, the war seems unstoppable — the phantoms of the dead soldiers haunt the jungle while all the living ones are continuing to fight in their nightmares.

“ _Bambi_ , what are you—”

“Keep quiet, _Dun_.”

Tyler’s hands are undoing Josh’s baggy uniform pants, Tyler’s hot breathing ghosts over Josh’s groin; Josh’s calloused fingers comb through Tyler’s hair. Josh thrusts gently, not to hurt Tyler’s jaw, forcing Tyler’s head forward, as Josh spills down his throat a little too quickly.

That’s how Tyler thanks him.

No one finds out.

 

***

Two days later, Josh fucks him for the first time, on the rough fern, and Tyler laughs and cries as he climaxes. Everything _is not right_ , inside and out, and Josh’s thoughts are heavy though he’s pretty lightheaded as his hips jerk automatically and he comes, staining Tyler’s inner thighs and his own stomach as he pulls out. Josh leans for a kiss but Tyler ducks his head and gasps softly. This tropical climate’s driving Josh insane, hot and humid air sticks to his skin, his uniform’s drenched in sweat.

“I’m afraid,” Tyler says, tugging his pants up.

Their rifles are lying on the ground, near their helmets — Death and Protection.

“Don’t be afraid, Bambi, we’re gonna get back home soon.”

Josh would build a home for Tyler and himself.

Josh is a hopeless romantic.

Tyler doesn’t bristle when Josh calls him Bambi.

“My sister’s pregnant, you know,” Tyler says. “I’m gonna be an uncle for the first time. It’s so exciting.”

He smiles, making Josh’s heart contract.

“Congratulations,” Josh chuckles.

Tyler gives him one more smile.

They wait, not to be suspicious for the other soldiers in their group.

Tyler comes back first, Josh follows him after half an hour; in their camp, they don’t even look at each other.

For their own good.

No one attacks them tonight.

 

***

Josh’s hair becomes ginger-colored and dry as the sun keeps tormenting it. Tyler tans, but Josh just gets sunburnt, the skin on his neck and nose is scorched and red, and he feels like the night is the only time when he can breathe without that nagging pain in his lungs.

Well, Josh is wrong.

It’s past midnight when the infantry arrives to the small village on the outskirts of Saigon. Tyler has a thick layer of dirt on his hands and neck and Josh has blood smudged under his eyes. They walk past the dingy wooden houses, rifles up and aimed for the Vietnam soldiers.

For the warriors only.

“Morgan, no!” Josh shouts when the soldier kills a middle-aged woman standing beside the round stone well.

The bullet paints her clothes red.

“Shut up,” Morgan barks, pushing Josh aside and running to the house.

And here’s the chaos with women’s yelling and crying and —

_Seek and destroy strategy._

“Dammit, stop!”

“We need fucking water, food and guns, _now_!”

That’s where their troop splits, some people run to hide, getting bullets into their backs and heads, a Carnival of Death —

There are the kids, a boy and a girl sitting on the ground beside their dead father; Josh notices them only when Tyler sprints towards them, throwing the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and crouching down. Two little Vietnamese rabbits that are about to get eaten by huge American dogs. The girl’s babbling, hugging a plush kitten to her chest, her dress is damp from blood, and tears prickle the boy’s eyes, but he wipes them, because _men shouldn’t cry._

“Jesus Christ,” Tyler slightly moves the body so the kids don’t stare at it.

“Daddy isn’t waking up,” the girl whimpers.

Josh feels sick when he sees _the brains_ splatter like jam out of the broken jar.

Tyler swallows.

The kids cover their ears with their palms as another bomb explodes. A signal rocket pierces the sky, panicking people unite into groups, getting ready to fight using the weapons they don’t have; the smell of burning wood and meat fills the air, fills Josh’s lungs.

The entire village might just get burnt by the dawn.

“Mommy!” the boy yells, somewhat happily.

Josh turns around, spotting a dark-haired woman in a long nightdress on the opposite side of the collapsed barn.

“Shh,” Tyler presses his forefinger to his lips. “We’ll get you there. We’ll get you to your Mom, I promise.”

They don’t see any Vietnam warriors here.

It’s only them who bring the mayhem.

But it turns out that not everyone in their group is dead-hearted.

Josh scoops the girl up into his arms while Tyler picks the boy up — they’re too small to judge the people by just their uniforms. There are at least two souls they can defend.

Morgan gets a bullet in his forehead as soon as he leaves one of the houses with the stuffed backpack, zipping his pants up.

Josh gloats.

 

***

Josh is the one who drags Tyler through the ruins when the bullet hits him in the head. The helmet helps a little, but here’s a rill of blood, a gash in his brow, and explosions, and Tyler’s unconscious body on Josh’s back.

He’s still breathing, and it makes Josh want to breathe too.

To give him a last breath maybe.

They’re out of the epicenter of the firefight, and there’s miles and miles of the land ahead, with their half dead flashlights and half alive friends. And Josh trudges forward along with the others, occasionally running and occasionally stopping to give Tyler a drop of the stale water from the flask.

“Hold on,” Josh says when the water runs past Tyler’s flakey lips.

“Hold on,” Josh orders, stopping again and opening Tyler’s mouth not to let him choke on his slack tongue.

One guy asks why Josh is trying to save a faggot.

Josh wants to kill him.

Tyler’s wound is not fatal, Josh tells to himself, moving ahead, persevering and ignoring the acute ache in his strained legs.

When Tyler wakes up, he thanks Josh again.

 

***

Tyler is the one who stitches up Josh’s penetrating trauma when he falls too close to the detonating landmine. A young Vietnamese guy has exploded right next to Josh, sprinkling his left cheek with bloody freckles.

As a soldier, Josh has seen enough deaths; as a person, he never stops getting nightmares about those events.

Josh can’t feel anything but pulsing in his shattered ribs, a surreal shadow of a bruise and blood on his side, and the needle pokes in and out, in and out, gluing the pieces of his flesh together.

“Hold on, Josh,” Tyler says.

Tyler is terrible tailor.

Tyler makes him drink vodka straight from the bottleneck. The alcohol mixes with the blood and bile in his stomach.

And Josh is mentally back to the jungles, to the smell of death and ash, to the burning trees and humans’ guts hanging from the branches just like fat red lianas.

Josh wants to be home.

“You’re doing so well,” Tyler encourages, and the black thread doesn’t let Josh’s side fall apart again.

“Uh-huh,” Josh takes another swig of vodka.

“You’re so brave, Josh.”

Josh isn’t brave.

Once they finish, Josh hurls into somebody’s _brain dome_ and passes out.

 

***

“I caught a deer,” Josh says with a grin.

Tyler rolls his eyes.

“It’s not funny, Josh.”

Calm days and nights are so rare they don’t have any time to talk.

They’re sneaking out again, sitting on the hot and wet stones by the lake.

Tiny drops of water glimmer on Tyler’s bare shoulders, on his skinned elbows, the scab dotted with dirt. Some of Josh’s fingernails are cracked and blackened, partly falling off and partly held in place with the unclean bandages.

Josh jumps into the lake again, just to wash away all the husk.

But not even the holy water can make him pristine.

Not even a prayer.

Josh just wants to see his family again, to taste the cake his mother always bakes for his birthday, to finally repair the dents in his father’s navy-blue Ford Falcon. To discuss his sisters’ fashion sense, to listen to The Rolling Stones with his little brother.

“Josh?”

Josh is underwater, not aware of Tyler’s words, his head and thoughts are full of water, and —

“Do we have a future?”

Josh regrets it when he emerges.

He swims, his side throbs with pain. Tyler is Josh’s seamark, with this stupid stubble that looks mostly like grime on his chin. As if he’s still a teenager. And Josh has this stupid rash on his back, tiny red pimples have mostly dried — as if he’s a teenager too. After all of the terrors of the war, Tyler makes him feel younger. Tyler makes him look younger than he is.

They’re just sporting their immaturity.

Tyler forgets about his question, playing with the silvery dog tags* on his neck. And Josh knows Tyler’s age and date of birth, and they might celebrate it along with the victory, or —

Josh is the summer, and Tyler is the winter, and the war turns all the seasons to just a single shape of grey with the bloody streaks.

“Are you dreaming of something?”

“I’m dreaming of peace,” Tyler responds in all seriousness. “Some peace of mind would be cool too.”

Tyler’s matted hair is sticking in every possible angle and Josh is in love with him.

Tyler says things Josh would never think about.

Josh swims back, then diving deeper and feeling the water press onto his brainpan. When he reaches the surface again, Tyler’s pulling his uniform on.

“Stay here,” he says. “I’m heading back.”

They don’t need anyone to know about their secret relationship.

Josh rakes the water with his arms, nearing the shore again as Tyler dissipates in twilight.

He just has to wait. 

 

 ***

Things go even more downhill.

Because one day, when Josh gets back to the tent, Tyler cries.

He’s holding scissors, chopping off strands of his short messy hair, sitting in the corner and hyperventilating. Josh drops his backpack and rifle, leaping towards him right at the moment when Tyler brings the scissors up to his eye.

“Stop it, Ty, what are you doing?!” Josh snatches his hand and twists his wrist until Tyler loosens his grip.

The scissors fall onto Tyler’s lap, into the small pile of his locks.

“They did it, Josh,” Tyler whispers, voice raucous. “They did it to me, they laughed at me because you weren’t there, you didn’t _save_  me, Josh,” he gags are he says his name. “And it was so disgusting, and they— I tried to fight back, but they choked me, and they put a bag on my h-head,” he stutters, petrified.

War is cruel just like everything created by humans, just like sex and violence, and the beast attacks a silly young deer in the woods —

“Damn,” Josh only manages.

“They called me _Bambi_ again, I hate that! I hate myself for not being able to be like them, like _you_ , I fucking hate myself,” Tyler chokes out, Josh can see the bones in his ribcage, and see the bruises on his throat.

Scissors are stained with blood from the scratches on Tyler’s temples, on his hands.

“You tried to gouge out your eyes?..”

“I wanted to cut those eyelashes off.”

Here’s the ugly hematoma on the back of Tyler’s head; Tyler’s camouflage pants are ripped on the knees, mottled with blood and something else.

The war is a pure atrocity, the war is just a word, but people find their own meaning, people only want to satisfy their needs.

Their bloodlust.

“Oh my God,” Josh exhales. “I’m gonna kill them.”

Morgan is dead.

Josh sees the black bruises blooming on Tyler’s bare torso, on his back, Josh hears the voices of the soldiers coming from outside.

Here’s that bag on the ground, with the red wet spot on it, the bag that was covering Tyler’s head.

“They said I was made for being used _like that_ , they had a knife, and they wanted to use it, Josh, they wanted to cut my face,” Tyler swallows. “But I was faster. I’m not  _Bambi_ ,” he quivers. “You won’t put me down.”

And Josh was the one who didn’t protect him, and he’d prefer to die, to step on a fucking landmine rather listen to this cry, to a thick mess of words and saliva, clogging up his ears like a tar.

“Oh my God,” Josh says again.

Josh hates God and himself, because Tyler believed in both of them, but neither of them was there.

“One of them was still breathing when I left,” Tyler heaves up a hysterical giggle.

Here’s not only Tyler’s blood on his palms. The bag is right next to him, and Tyler wipes his hands on it, he’s not an innocent Bambi. And Josh is so dumb, he should’ve known that Greg and Dirk were planning to assault Tyler again; they’re most likely dead, too, but this is just a revenge, and Tyler is weeping.

“You did everything right,” Josh whispers. “My Tyler.”

Josh’s tongue will never work right.

Josh helps Tyler shave his head with the single razor they share.

 

***

It’s easy to get lost in the jungles, to get killed.

“Dirk and Greg were assholes,” Mark concludes. “They could’ve even murdered each other and no one would regret that.”

Josh agrees.

No one blames their deaths on Tyler.

No one asks what happened to Tyler’s hair or to his clothes or to his behavior.

That’s the law of the jungle.

“Bambi!”

Tyler’s eyes are sparkling with anger.

“Don’t wanna grieve with me, Bambi?”

“Fuck off,” Tyler mumbles.

One of Dirk’s friends thumps Tyler’s shoulder, and that’s when Josh smacks him in the mouth with the stock of his rifle.

And again.

And again.

Tyler gasps, and Josh sits on the man’s chest as his rifle collides with his face again and again, until he starts spurting out blood, and Josh drowns in his frenzy.

“Don’t. Call. Him. That,” Josh syllables, accenting each word with the solid punch to the man’s jaw.

“Dun!”

He’s being forcedly dragged away from the opponent who misses two or three teeth; his gums are a bloody pulp, and Mark gets Josh into a headlock, cutting off the air until his fingers unclench.

“Are you fucking crazy?!”

The rifle hits the ground, and Josh hits the ground too, gulping for air and feeling a soothing hand running through his curls.

“His name’s Tyler,” Josh wheezes, earning a strangled laughter.

Somebody kicks him, makes the wound on his side bleed again.

“Who the fuck cares.”

 

***

The bombing happens four days later; it catches the infantry in the dead of night and they can only try to fight back, in a feeble attempt to scare the enemy away with the signal rockets and gas. Josh pushes Tyler out of the line of fire as they scramble through the jungle, and that’s when the ground explodes underneath their feet. Josh falls, crawling to Tyler immediately and covering his back while he re-loads his rifle and shoots. Josh can feel the smell of guts again, unwittingly checking if his own innards aren’t falling out of the wound on his stomach.

“This is the end,” Josh can barely move his lips.

They’re running out of ammunition, and they witness the members of their group being killed one by one.

A bullet hits through Josh’s shoulder, and the side of his uniform is soaked red as the stitches give up again. He’s losing blood, and the helicopters keep hovering above them, and they need to get to the next point to send a signal. Josh is too numb to feel the pain that is still inside of him.

And he stumbles over a half-eaten body on his path.

Tyler cusses behind him.

Josh feels like a refugee, and they’re somewhere, and Josh’s compass is broken.

Josh’s vision swims, and he can’t save anyone.

 

***

They’re roving around the jungle, across the dead ground underneath the dome of the dead leaves. Josh is clueless, he loses the count of days, and the rumbling in his head never stops. This war has imprinted itself into every fiber of his being — it’s in his pores, in his blood cells. The Hell is red and hot, with the horrifying soundtrack of people’s screams.

A small group of American soldiers eventually meets them, here, in jungles; Josh is about to pass out as the infection gnaws at his wounds, and Tyler doesn’t speak anymore.

“We need help,” Josh breathes out.

They understand.

They don’t call Tyler Bambi.

They don’t know anything.

“We survived,” Josh explains, though his explanation is mostly a rasping sound.

The soldiers give them painkillers, food and water, and they have no other choice.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Josh says to Tyler as they wade through the bamboo.

Tyler nods humbly.

 

***

They’re heading North, and the war just becomes more violent.

Josh bends over to hack up a brownish-yellow mucus into the bushes, lungs burn from running. He’s firing his rifle left and right, and one of the soldiers covers him from the rear. He can still see Tyler out of the corner of his eye — he’s shooting in the dark, concerned, and Josh is about to heave out a sigh of relief.

_He’s going to catch this beast with his bare hands._

But suddenly, Tyler falls.

Tyler falls, and Josh’s terrified mind yells and cries as all the _greens_ of the jungle turn to _reds_.

“No,” Josh pleads. “Please, no.”

And he rushes, he hops over the corpses of Americans and Vietnamese only to reach Tyler in time; Josh skids to his knees, hitting his kneecaps against the slippery rocks.

The explosion rattles next to them.

Somebody gives an order to get up and go, but Josh can’t leave Tyler here.

“Please, wake up,” Josh begs, nasty tears begin to dribble.

He cradles Tyler’s body into his arms, trying to grab his backpack and get the first-aid kit. Tyler’s still pressing his rifle to his chest.

They will never win this war, the world is crumbling like a sand castle.

Tyler is missing a chunk of his flesh in his neck, a jagged hole here, gushing with blood.

Josh would take a bullet for him.

Josh is always late.

Tyler gurgles, but there’s no words.

And Josh’s palms skim over the gash in Tyler’s tensed neck, scooping handfuls and handfuls of Tyler’s life, and Tyler’s lips curl into a childish smile.

“Don’t leave me,” Josh beseeches.

The night devours his sanity.

Tyler’s eyes are wide open, with the reflected stars shimmering in them, with the dust and dirt around the dilated pupils.

Tyler looks at the sky or at Josh’s face right above him —

“We’re going home, Bambi.”

Tyler doesn’t respond.

He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> air catcher/tonight  
> \---  
> * [ dog tags](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0642/7853/products/aummdogtag_dull_finish_dog_tags_milspec_grande.jpg?v=1412030545)  
> \---  
> an [ art](http://pantaloonwarrior.tumblr.com/post/169468068327/for-bambi-written-by-i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky) made by PantaloonWarrior


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